Escape
by spreaddapoo93
Summary: After trying to take his own life, Draco is found semi-conscious, wounded and unable to remember anything. As he starts seeking his past, he finds things a lot uglier than he could've imagined and wonders if some things are better left undiscovered...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One - Death's Embrace**

_'Thus let me live, unheard, unknown/Thus unlamented let me die/Steal from the world, and not a stone/Tell where I lie.'_ - Extract from 'Ode to Solitude' by Alexander Pope

* * *

_Ignorance… is a splendid thing, a blissful thing. To be ignorant of what's out there, to be ignorant of what's in me, is all I've ever wanted… all I've ever needed. To be ignorant of the evil of my deeds and to be ignorant of the circumstances would be more than I could ask for. But consequences led me to where I am now, situated in a torturous, hopeless place, where any day I wake up is a disappointment, an undeserved mercy._

_I'm not bound for this world any more. And in my heart, I hope a far-stretched hope that somewhere out there, there is a place for me, a place in heaven… For eliminating an item of no sentimental value to this world, an item of negative worth, wouldn't that count as one good act of self-redemption?_

_And so, with an indestructible last hope, I plunge myself into this ocean of demise, and allow Death to embrace me in its last and final hold…_

* * *

"Jensen, go and play outside! You're making a bleeding mess out of my kitchen!" Jensen's mother shouted as Jensen jumped off the dining table and tumbled down to the floor. He looked at her, her fierce stare burning a hole through his head, and then looked at the wooden spoon held in her hand and decided that frolicking in the sunlight wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Jensen looked up the hill he had just rolled down. He sighed. His friends would have loved this… assuming he had friends. _I'm an eight year old town-loner with nothing to do and no one to say this to. How depressing…_ He thought to himself. _Maybe a little skinny-dipping in the river would help ease the pain of loneliness._ He smiled and stripped down to his birthday suit. Oblivious to the stares of the shocked bystanders, he ran to the other side of the field before plunging into the blood red river.

He stopped dead in his tracks. _The blood red river…_ That wasn't normal... He turned his head back and forth and looked around in search of the source of the gory colour. And there, a body spread-eagled on a low-lying boulder only a few feet from Jensen. From what Jensen could see, it could have been anything from a cow to an actual human being, but nevertheless, it was drenched in a red liquid that looked oddly similar to blood.

He quickly got out of the water and reluctantly drew on his clothes. It would only be right to confront a corpse with proper attire. The boulders were hard to climb; slippery and promising of a certain death if one were to fall off them, but Jensen was used to them. Years of curiosity and exploring made him nimble and lightfooted. Finally, he reached the body. It was a young man, probably twenty years of age, give or take a few years, topped off with platinum blonde hair.

Jensen smiled a sinister smile. He, Jensen Andrew McElfears was swimming in a river with a corpse. _Cool,_ He thought to himself. _Maybe it can be my friend. Every guy deserves a buddy, right? I mean even Dr Frankenstein had Frankenstein._ His smile faded. It would be wrong to claim Mr. John Doe. What if he had a family sitting next to his picture-frame every night, worried to tears? What if he had friends who were grieving his disappearance?

He sighed and stood up. It was a hard life, the good life.

* * *

"Mom! Guess what?" Jensen asked as he rushed into his house. His mother turned to face him.

"Jensen! Look what you've done! You've made a sodding mess! I'm to clean the rug again!" She shouted in dismay, staring at the patches of muddy footprints.

"Beep! Wrong answer! A dead man by the river! All bleeding and what have you. On top of that large boulder, you know, the one I like to climb? He's face-down, getting a mouthful of rock! Judging by the fact that his bones are all wonky and twisted, I say he broke all of them!" He said dramatically, using hand gestures and twisted facial expressions. His mother blinked. "I don't really know how he got there, but I assume he either fell or he jumped... Why would anyone jump, Mum?

"It's not your time to know these things yet! Anyway, are you sure, Jensen? Sometimes, you know how you see things that aren't really there?" She muttered in concern.

"Well, as I've said before, Mother. Everyone else just can't see what's really there. But, I swear this time it's real. If he wasn't dead when he washed ashore, the bleeding will do him in!" He said frowning. His mother thought about it before sighing and trusting her son. What harm could it do? _Another half-hour of laundry and a torturous back-ache, that's what._

She let him guide her by the hand to the river, and there she saw him, evidence that Jensen had really seen what he'd seen. She gasped and swore out loud, not bothering to cover her child's delicate ears, not that they needed covering. Euphemistically speaking, Jensen had a very extensive vocabulary.

She hurried to the bleeding corpse and checked his pulse. Weak, but still there. Sighing in relief, Ms. McElfears sent Jensen to call for help, promising him a cookie for a well-done job and a sore bottom for a poorly done one.

"Hang on, there." She whispered into the young male's ear.

* * *

_Five year old Draco fell down the grassy hill, grazed but perfectly happy. He let out a shrill laugh, something he hadn't been able to do for months on end. His father objected to him giving into his emotions so easily and set him lessons on cold-heartedness and hardcore punishments for inappropriate behaviour._

_"Draco," Narcissa murmured. "My little baby. Are you happy?"_

"_I wish everyday was like this!" He shouted aloud, giggling. His mother nodded and hugged him tightly before tickling his stomach. He laughed again, unable to stop, and ran away as she chased him._

"_WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING OUT HERE?" It seemed as though the whole world suddenly stopped. A stern voice filled every corner of his young and innocent mind, killing the joy and bliss that had filled him inside. He turned to face his father's face-of-stone carved horrifically into a menacing grimace._

"_Lucius, we were just having a break. He grinds himself so hard into the work…" Narcissa tried to stand in between him and Draco, trying to reason it out, only to be pushed aside. She watched as the tall, blonde man rushed towards the little boy, her son, before slapping him hard across the face._

_She almost let out a cry of pain as she eyed Draco, who bravely bit back his screams as the pain seared his cheek. "I'm sorry, father." He muttered. "It won't happen again."_

"_You're bloody hell right, it won't."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - Suicide Note**

"Under the wide and starry sky, / Dig the grave and let me lie. / Glad did I live and gladly die, / And laid me down with a will." - Extract from 'Requiem'" by Robert Louis Stevenson

* * *

Jensen blew into John Doe's ear. It didn't look like much fun, being in recovery. He might as well make life more interesting for the nearly-dead and put a few laughs into their bellies, before they either fell dead or carried on living the hardcore stressful life. He observed the body, poking at the exact places where his wounds were. It was amusing. Every time he prodded something, a different body part would flinch away. Jensen muffled a giggle.

"Jensen!" His agitated mother pushed him away. "It's rude to poke sick people."

He sighed and started to move away, but stopped in his tracks as John Doe groaned. Jensen looked up in excitement. He'd been waiting for this moment for what seemed like decades! Doe was finally waking up… or dying. Either way, he wanted something to play with.

John Doe opened his eyes, blinking feverishly against the bright light, trying to allow them to adjust. His arm automatically shot up to protect his painstaking eyes, to which he looked curiously at it; extending his fingers out, then curling them back in. He tried to get up but a hand kept him pushed down. He looked up at a man, black-haired, brown-eyed and middle-aged.

"Now, now. You've got to let your body heal. It's best if you just keep lying down. Rest." The man's words were slightly muffled, as though his ears weren't used to sound yet.

"Where am I?" He asked, his voice dry and cracked.

"Well, you're in Wippleton's Town. You turned up half-dead on the banks of our river. So… due to the extent of your injuries, you had to be brought in to the hospital. Here we are, in recovery."The man said nervously. A healer of some sort with what seemed to be a nervous disorder. Things were getting confusing.

"Hi, John Doe. I'm Jensen, the founder of your body. As, I dunno, a debt to me, could you be my friend?" Jensen popped up next to the bed.

"So sorry about him." His mother said. "He won't bother you again." She picked him up and was about to get out of the room when Doe shouted.

"No!" Everyone turned to look at him, including Mrs McElfears who stopped in her tracks and turned. "I… I rather like the boy… He can stay." He looked straight at Jensen. "Thank you for saving my life, Jensen. I owe my life to you, so, to be a friend of yours seems an honour to me." He held out his hand, which Jensen enthusiastically took and shook.

"So, Mr. Doe. I don't know about you, but I feel that John Doe's getting really old… What's your real name?" Jensen asked John Doe. He smiled at the little boy and ruffled his hair.

"My name is… My name is… erm…" He looked down, surfing his brain for a name… a memory… just something, dammit! "Um… It might have started with an H… or a J. Maybe an N? Definitely an N."

"Oh dear," the doctor clasped his chest. "Amnesia."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy held the letter in shaking hands. It had been months since Draco had last contacted him, and yet he had never given up hope that his son would eventually… forgive? No, not forgive. There was nothing to forgive. Just get over whatever pathetic phase he'd been going through and write just once. He had imagined the fateful meeting a million times, yet he'd never imagined it to be like this.

_Father,_

_I've failed to please you in every way possible, as both son and wizard. I did try and knowing that my best wasn't good enough made me want to hate you before ... But I realise only now that you were only trying to protect me from this world, trying to mould me into a son fit to be heir of the great Malfoy Household. And I let you down._

_But somehow I don't care, and I think that I never really ever did. I've discovered after this fall that there are so many more important things out there, things that would be worth living and fighting for if I didn't have all this painful, wretched guilt. _

_It's ironic, isn't it? How I just so happen to find out how much I want to learn, do and experience something different just when I _need_ to leave. The things I've done… The things I was willing to do… I've killed and I can't scrub the blood off my hands, no matter how hard I try. I'm rotten to the core and I feel sick._

_The purpose of this letter isn't to fill you with guilt, but for me to tell you two things I need you to understand: First of all, it's not your fault, or Mom's either. I was in charge of my own actions and I could've and should've looked for a different path. I will always be grateful for you both, because you've made me a stronger man. Obviously not strong enough, but stronger than I could have ever been without you._

_The second is that I don't want you to hate me for what I've done. I believe that this is for the best and we've all got to stand up for what we believe in. I am a vile, fatally sick and pained animal in need of putting down. I can't live through this anymore._

_Your son,_

_Draco Malfoy_

"Darling… what is it?" Narcissa asked feebly. She had grown so weak since their last encounter with their son. The one in which Draco had told them not to try to get in touch with him in any way.

"Nothing, dear." He lied. It was immoral, trying to keep such a terrible yet vital truth from her, but he knew it would be just as immoral to throw such wearisome troubles on her already over-packed, grieving soul.

But she soon won over, stating that she couldn't tolerate another toxic breath of this world if even her own husband lied to her. He could never know how she was able to look past all his defenses that no one else could look through, this probably being the reason why he'd married her.

After that, his walls fell crumbling down. Fast and hard, and he couldn't stop his hands from trembling as he handed the letter over.

First, there was no response whatsoever, and then she was sobbing, hours on end. He tried to comfort her, begged her to talk to him, but she refused for days before finally confronting him.

Lucius stood for a few minutes, not knowing whether to sit or stay standing. His frail wife sat in a room, curtains closed although it was day. He wished to rip them open and make her see the splendid beauty of sunlight that she'd denied for the past few months. But instead, he knelt on the floor, taking her hands into his.

"Narcissa…" A single tear fell down his bleached skin.

"Lucius, I can't bear it. How am I going to survive if I can't see our Draco ever again?" She asked, her voice croaky from the endless sobbing. Lucius looked into her red and swollen eyes, anger licking against his insides for the first time in what seemed to be a long time and she saw it, flashing across his eyes like the sharpest of blades.

"Don't you even dare, Narcissa." He hissed. "Don't you even think about it. We've just been given the chance to start over. I loved him with every fibre of my being, and I can't help but regret the things I've made him go through. I lost him, Narcissa. And, no matter what my outer appearances tell you, it feels like my insides are being torn apart. I can't afford to lose any more. I can't afford to lose you. I won't survive it this time..." Narcissa nodded, slightly in shame and slightly in surrender.

"But there's just one thing that gets me." She said tearfully. Lucius looked up at her again. "He didn't, not once, indicate that he loved us. If you really loved someone and you were about to take your own life, wouldn't you tell them how much you cared for them?"

* * *

"So!" Jensen said merrily. "Did you think up of a name? Double three! I win this round."

John Doe was still unable to get up from his bed, but he'd improved in some ways. For instance, he could now do something between lying down and sitting up.

"Well, I was thinking of 'Nick'. Since it starts with an 'N'. I have a good feeling about N." He answered back, scowling in concentration. "Don't count your chickens before they hatch." He put down two cards, an ace of spades and an ace of hearts. "I win."

"Aw, man. I was _so_ close to dominating your castle and your princess." He moaned, disappointed by the last-minute bend of track. "Oh well. I shall draw my knight from the chamber of fire and move toward the dungeons to fight the dragons."

"Wait a minute. Is that actually allowed?" John Doe, from then onwards known as Nick, asked in suspicion. Jensen shrugged his shoulders.

"I _am_ the creator, therefore rule-maker of the game. I can change the rules if I want to." He stuck out his tongue. Nick chuckled and shook his head.

"So, Nick. How are we feeling today?" Doctor Kinev asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. Both Jensen and Nick turned their heads to the doorway, where the doctor was standing.

"I'm doing pretty well, Doctor." He answered enthusiastically, after a nervous round of greetings. "I managed to sort of sit up."

"Well, that is progress, I guess. And I have some good news! We believe your casts are ready to be taken off."

Nick blinked. emCasts?/em The doctor tapped the two white casts surrounding both legs and Nick's eyes brightened with realisation.

"Oh! These nasty little buggers?" he asked. Doctor Kinev nodded. "Well… I'll finally be able to see what my knees look like. That's a plus."

* * *

Harry Potter ran towards the elevator, shouting for the wizards to wait, but, to his luck, he'd missed it by a fraction of a second. He swore under his breath and ran to the emergency exit staircase and began sprinting up the flights of stairs. He wondered in agitation why the bloody Ministry had to have so many floors. He finally reached the sixty-seventh floor: Dark Magic and Death Eaters.

A whole floor had been created out of nowhere in between the sixty-fifth (Queries and Complaints) and sixty-eighth (Board of Divinations) - oddly enough there was no sixty-sixth floor - for the findings of Death Eaters and black magic practitioners after Voldemort. Now that the War was over, the Ministry found the Auror section not as necessary and moved it to become a subsector of the Ministry.

Harry barged through the office door labelled _'Paperwork'_ and doubled over to catch his breath. Everyone stared at him for a moment and then carried on with their work, minding their own business. It seemed as though this routine was one they were quite familiar with.

"Bloody hell, Harry. Are you alright?" Ron asked, holding a thick pile of papers he had to examine before they were sent to the new Minister of Magic.

"Yeah, Harry. Looks a bit like you're having some trouble breathing." Hermione shouted from the other side of the room. She abandoned her quill and parchment and stood from her desk to make her way towards him.

"I… News… Heard… Frequent… Bad… Breathe… Need to..." He panted, resting his hands on his knees. Hermione patted his back and conjured a glass of water out of thin air. Harry muttered a word of thanks before beckoning both of them to step out of the office.

They followed him into an empty broom cupboard, both of them with questioning looks on their faces but both also knowing that he probably had a very valid reason for doing what he was doing. They stopped in their tracks as Harry turned around. He didn't say anything for a while, still dazed from the sprinting. He coughed to clear his dry throat.

"I saw Mr. Malfoy today." He said, unable to look his two best friends in the eye. Hermione snarled and Ron was in mid-swearing when Harry stopped him. Ron looked at him strangely. "He came into the Ministry to report a death in the family." Harry turned around to finally face them. His eyes full of grief-fuelled tears.

"I don't get it." Ron hissed. "Why would Lucius come in to report a death? Wouldn't his emDeath Eater activities/em rather be in secret? Strange of the bleeding bloke if you ask me." He looked from Harry to Hermione, who suddenly gasped, her eyes glinting with disbelief. Harry nodded. "What?" Ron asked in puzzlement.

"It's Draco." Harry finally whispered.

* * *

Ron stared Harry straight in the eyes for a few minutes, his mouth opening, then closing, looking much like a muted, babbling toad. It was impossible. Sure, he never liked the fellow, but he didn't necessarily literally mean it when he told Malfoy to crawl into a hole and die.

"No way!" He shouted, refusing to believe it. "There's no way! Absolutely no way it could happen!"

"Well, it's happened!" Harry shouted back in fury. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his temples with one hand, trying to force away the memories… the taunts and the insults… the way he treated Malfoy. And now he was dead. Gone.

"What happened?" Hermione asked in a tight and strangled voice. Her eyes were already swollen and her face blotchy from crying.

"No one knows yet. Apparently Mr. Malfoy recently received a letter from Draco, the first one since Voldemort's descent." Harry hesitated. "It was a suicide note. They say they haven't found a body, but it's impossible to track his body down because of the many forms of suicide. He could've jumped from a bridge, hanged himself, thrown himself down a well, sent himself back to the Salem era. There are a million possibilities and there's no way to track him down without..."

"But there's still a chance he's alive!" Hermione shouted, her voice cracking. "He… He could have been found, or… or he could have just written a phony note as a prank! Like you said, there are a million possibilities! We... We've got to go find him. He might be somewhere out there, lost and wounded… I can't just leave him there!" She turned to run to the door, but two firm hands held her back. "What… Let me go, Harry!" She struggled to get out of his hold, but his grip was strong.

"Hermione…"

Hermione fought against him, uselessly punching his arms with fists, giant teardrops cascading down her cheeks as she sobbed. She finally stopped resisting and broke down, crumbling to the floor.

"I-I just… I c-can't believe it…" She stammered through her sobs. Harry held her in an embrace, his shoulder wet from her tears. He desperately looked up at Ron, but Ron was looking elsewhere, guilt, anger and confusion written clearly on his face. His fists were balled up, and a minute later it came crashing into the wall of the broom cupboard. Hermione sobbed even harder and Harry, the comforter, struggled to maintain a straight face as emotions… memories caught up on him…

* * *

_Draco looked down at his clean and manicured fingernails, rubbing them every now and then as though they were filthy. As though _he_ was filthy. He whimpered silently as fear, anger and pain pinned him to the ground, the darkness and solitude attacking him with such immense force. He felt like screaming, sobbing, letting it all out. But he kept his face straight, gluing on his silly smirk where his downturned mouth would be._

"_Hey, Malfoy!" He heard Potter yell from a distance. He stood up slowly and turned from the lake, picking up his schoolbag just as Harry reached him and shoved it into the river before throwing a punch across Draco's face. "I. Will. Warn. You. Just. This. Once. Mess with Ron and Hermione one more time and you _will_ wish you were never born."_

_Malfoy recollected himself from the floor, and smirked as he thought bitterly, _I already do._ He shook the dirt off his back and retrieved his wet backpack from the lake with an Accio spell. "Piss off, Potter." He hissed. He saw Harry smile, as though he had won the fight. As if he was the king of the universe, tackling one of the major and most important of tasks - make Draco Malfoy suffer._

_Draco left the scene of the brawl, the peaceful lake, and looked for another place to be... to just fit in. He headed to the Room of Requirement, locked the door and stood in a dark and empty space. What he needed the most - just a place to shrink away into the background._

_He closed his eyes (though it wasn't needed in the blackness that enveloped him) and let his thoughts drain away… Vile, repulsive thoughts that were continuously making him ill. Thoughts about Death Eaters, dark magic, muggle murders and, most important of them all, Voldemort's orders to Draco to execute the one and only man that could help him escape…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - Changes**

"_Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us/To lift his sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark/Unwilling, alone we embark, /And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us."_ - Extract from 'On a Dead Child' by Robert Bridges

* * *

Hermione stared at the photograph of the unsmiling blonde young man, hardly older than eighteen, with red-rimmed eyes. A black corsage decorated the otherwise plain picture frame. Funny how nobody had ever really noticed how sorrowful he always looked. His eyes drooped downwards, his cheeks unused to the upward lifting motion of a mere smile; his lips set like stone in a grimace.

She walked away, tugging at her loose black dress and her brown mess of hair. She had given her apologies to Mr and Mrs Malfoy, who in return gave her icy stares and cold unconvincing smiles. She didn't expect much else from them, anyway.

She stood in a secluded corner of the hall that held the wake of Draco Malfoy's death; the search for his body was called off after two weeks of blind and futile seeking.

It was hell so far: Harry and Ron hadn't spoken to each other since the news, and nor had they bothered to acknowledge Hermione's presence. They stood far away from each other in their own secluded little corners, bitterness written on their faces. She felt like screaming. The anger, the pain and the guilt that clawed at her chest stung and the acidic responses she received from her friends didn't do wonders at all.

She leaned forward, doubling over as the pain doubled in her chest. She fought back the tears angrily. This was Malfoy, for goodness' sake! She hated him, despised him with all her heart. No other feeling towards him but revulsion… Those few moments couldn't affect her now. Not after everything he made her go through... Right?

* * *

Nick stared at his long and slender fingers. The hint of a manicure was visible on the edges of his nails. He furrowed his eyebrows. He could almost touch the memories. He could almost touch the blurred faces and censored voices… but they were all _just_ out of reach. All of them _just _a fingertip away from tangibility.

"What's on your mind, Nick?" Doctor Kinev asked tensely. He waited patiently for Nick to answer, carefully examining his charts. Nick looked up.

"I don't… remember… ever feeling happy." He replied. Doctor Kinev lifted his eyes in surprise.

"Well… that might be because of the amnesia… Unless you emremember/em something that makes you feel that way?"

"That's not it." Nick muttered, casting his eyes down to his hands again. "Every grimace… every frown seems so familiar to me. But when it comes to laughing… or smiling even, I can't… it just feels strange. Like when a person, who lived on bread all their life, comes across a chunk of meat." He looked up again at the doctor, the pain cutting a frown onto his face. Doctor Kinev's eyes flashed with sympathy, but were soon filled with his usual nervousness.

"I'm sure you were happy, Nick. I've seen quite a few that weren't so... quite the same. Trust me when I say you wouldn't have lasted this long." Nick smiled a little in response.

"Thanks, Doctor."

* * *

"Ron!" Ron ignored Hermione as he picked up his quill and carried on working. They were at the Ministry again in their empty office, still in black from the wake. "Ever since Harry told us about Draco, it's like you've become a completely different person! I don't... Ron, are you even listening? Bleeding hell, I want you to LOOK AT ME!" Hermione grabbed a hardcover book and threw it at him poorly, missing him by two feet.

"Hermione, I'm bloody trying to concentrate!" He shouted. "Take your irksome weeping and PMS somewhere else!" Hermione was taken aback, her jaw hung uselessly as tears started to well up in her eyes.

"What?" She managed to sound out through her confusion and hurt.

Ron leaped from his spot, sending his chair cascading across the room, and shoved the pile of papers off his desk. Hermione stared at him speechlessly, flinching as a bottle of ink crashed into the wall. She couldn't understand what had gotten into him and all she needed was a crumb, a fleck of something familiar to show that the man she'd known almost all her life was still in there. But all her hopes were smashed once she saw Ron stride up to her, all the quaking anger demonstrated in each step, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, the madness evident in his eyes.

"I said: Take. Your. Irksome. Weeping. And. P. M. S. Somewhere. Else." He spat as she fought against his grip. He let go, and watched as Hermione tumbled to the floor. She hit her back against a hard wooden object of unknown purpose, but that wasn't what hurt her. Physical pain couldn't measure up to the blades that struck and sliced her heart as she watched Ron turn around and magically rearrange the room as it was before his outburst; watched as he sat down and carried on working, oblivious to Hermione's pain.

She wanted to stay there, hope that he would come to his senses and comfort her. But she pulled herself together and staggered out of the office, knowing that that wouldn't be the case.

She ran down the corridor, holding all the sobs behind her clenched teeth as her feet dragged her to somewhere private where she could break down without a single soul witnessing how Hermione Jane Granger, the strongest and smartest witch of her age had been so stupid to rely on hope and had been stupid enough to let her stupidity hurt her beyond what words could express. She flew blindly around a corner, only to impact with a large and muscular chest, crashing to the floor once more.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice fluttered into her ringing ears. She refused to look up at him as she tried to lift herself up on her own. "Are you alright?" He asked in sincere concern as he eyed her hand caressing her wounded back. She tried to keep her emotions at bay, give Harry a well-structure 'I'm alright', but the concern that lined his voice made her burst into tears and fall to the floor again. She felt Harry's arms wrap around her and his voice try to calm her down.

"What happened?" He asked, his tone turning grave. He looked down the corridor to Ron's office and clenched his teeth. "What did he do to you?"

"It doesn't matter." Hermione buried her face into Harry's chest. "He's not himself… Not anymore…"

* * *

Hermione stood in front of her bathroom mirror, hands gripping the sides of the basin. She didn't like the girl who was reflected back. Her usually combed back, magically softened and smoothed hair was a mess; tangled and twisted outwards in weird angles and directions. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and black circles haunted the areas underneath them. She was exhausted, distressed, frantic and in agony.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. None of it was. She was crisply nineteen, just at the height of success. She had just recovered and her world was just about perfect. Then it all came crashing down, falling apart and making contact with the hard solid ground, and thus it broke and shattered into tiny irreparable pieces. The pain was more than overwhelming. It was in every way plaguing, hurtful and destructive.

She splashed water on her face and towelled it dry, her head aching as memories and feelings swarmed in her head and in her chest. Before she knew it, it had become too much and she placed the towel over her mouth and screamed, the fabric muffling the most of it, as the tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Hermione flew into her kitchen, thrusting open all the drawers, searching for something... anything that could alleviate the pain. And there, in the darkest, deepest corner of the cupboard beneath the sink, she found it: a tiny glass vial filled with velvety blue liquid. She had never meant to use it... A rather good result of the hardest of exercises she'd put herself through that she'd meant to throw away. She pulled the stopper out of place and threw the contents down her throat.

The world swooned around her, the ground disappeared from beneath her feet and soon she found herself in a world without pain, without thoughts, a world without love or hate…

"What have you done to me, Draco?" She whispered one last whisper, before the darkness devoured her, ripping her away from the one world she loved and knew so much... the one world that betrayed her and tore her soul into ragged pieces...

* * *

"ARE THERE _NO_ MAGICAL METHODS OF TRACKING HIM DOWN???" Ron shouted as he barged into the Minister's office. Julius Dibs looked up from his parchment.

"Mr Weasley, how kind of you to drop by." Mr Dibs replied, his tired eyes wandering back to the ten-foot-long list of priorities. "How can the Minister of Magic help you today?"

"I have no time for snide comments, Mr Dibs. I need to know if magic could be used to search for his body." Ron said in a lower and calmer tone, an edge of threat coating his voice. The minister stared into Ron's eyes curiously and gradually put down his quill and closed the ink bottle.

"Ronald, there are things you have to understand about magic. There is no way of doing so without endangering the life or lives of the tracker tracking the body and the body being tracked. There's also a high chance of there being a hazard to the people surrounding such bodies. Such experiments are a step from illegal. You know all this better than I do."

"Minister, the body being tracked is a body. No essence of life or breath inside. It's an empty shell, no risk involved. I owe it to Draco Malfoy to give him a proper burial… And I came here to volunteer to risk my life for the search of his body, Minister. As for the people surrounding us... I could do it somewhere secluded and don't you think that if someone was close by to Draco, they would have reported it already? Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it." Ron declared with determination. It was all he could do to rid himself of the guilt that shrouded his thoughts. His very existence had become a question mark.

'_What have you done to me, Malfoy?'_ He thought to himself as he watched the minister nod just once.

* * *

Harry stood in the shower fully clothed, the cold water drenching his hair and clothes to his pallid skin. To be absolutely honest, shamefully, he wasn't much affected by Draco's death. He felt guilty and shameful for his behaviour towards Malfoy in recently passed years, but the remorse didn't plague him constantly. He'd gotten over the mourning a few days after the funeral.

He wished he could say the same for his best friends. They were devastated by the news. Ron's attitude changed overnight, and it didn't take a genius to figure out how he treated Hermione that very same day after the wake. He was unusually cold-shouldered to both Harry and Hermione. And Hermione, if not fully broken by the impact of the death, was sure to be ripped to shreds by Ron's manners.

He shook his head and turned the water off. He thought that somehow the freezing shower would numb his thoughts, but it only increased his headache. Maybe it would've been better to leave Hermione and Ron out of this. _Maybe it would've been better if Draco was left a secret…_ He dropped to the tiled floor and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Stupid, stupid!" He muttered under his breath. "I should've known their reaction. It's all my fault. It's my fault they're hurting…. My fault they're killing themselves…'

* * *

"_AAAAARGH!!!" Draco screamed; his body convulsing as the Cruciatus Curse coursed through his body, his nerves turning haywire. He fell back down to the floor panting. "Please… no more…" He begged, whimpering and kept his eyes firmly shut. The pain tripled and he heard a scream leave his mouth as another round sent him rocketing through the air in agony._

"_Draco, you have to learn that pain is merely a trick of the mind." His father walked out of the shadows. "It is a weakness and to give into it is the equivalent of damning yourself. You must fight back! You must resist!"_

_The tall and proud figure of Lucius Malfoy towered over his broken son, a look of pure sadistic pleasure breaking a smile across his face. "The Dark Lord will not be merciful. It is time you understand that while others will suffer greatly, you must overcome such petty weaknesses! PROVE THAT YOU ARE A MALFOY!"_

_He lifted his black wand again and shot another painstaking hex and watched as his son writhed in excruciating, unendurable anguish, an anguish that should never be placed into the life of any young man, of any man in general, especially by the hand of his own father..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - Accidents**

"_Fly envious Time till thou run out thy race, /Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, /Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace; /And glut thy self with that thy womb devours, /Which is no more than what is false and vain, /And meerly mortal dross; /So little is our loss, /So little is thy gain." _- Extract from 'On Time' by John Milton (Poems, 1645)

* * *

Harry was on his way to the Ministry when just as he was about to turn the corner to the phone booth, his feet led him onto another route: the route to Hermione's apartment. His forehead creased in a scowl. Something was wrong… He could feel it in his gut and after all these years, he'd come to learn that ignoring his gut was not the best thing to do.

He broke into a run and found himself in front of Hermione's apartment door in less than a minute or so. He knocked twice, firmly and hard, feeling ridiculous. _'She's probably at work, anyway… There'd be no way she'd still be inside her apart…_' The door creaked open.

"Hermione?" He called, stepping into the living room. No reply. He heard running water and hurried to the bathroom. The floor was flooded and the carpeted hallway near the doorway was soaked. Still no sign of Hermione. He quickly closed the tap, the fear plaguing his body growing more and more intense. "Please, Hermione… please…" He murmured to himself.

He stepped foot into the kitchen and fell to his knees, bending over as the terror twisted his stomach further. "No… please, no!" He shouted in disbelief as he crawled over to Hermione's grey, motionless body; he checked for a pulse, for signs of breathing. His muscles relaxed with relief as he found these.

As he was about to pick Hermione up, he heard the tinkling of glass rolling on marble. His eyes drifted away from Hermione's stone cold face to a tiny, empty bottle next to her cold hands, labelled _Plaisir de Mort_.

He'd remembered what little French he'd learned at the Muggle School the Dursleys had sent him to... "Deathly Delight." He read aloud. His body convulsed as he felt the bile rising up to his mouth, the terror fogging his mind. He needed to get her to a hospital _ASAP_. He swiftly lifted Hermione and, with a crack, disappeared into thin air…

* * *

"Mr Weasley, are you sure you're ready for this?" The fretful wizard asked for the umpteenth time. Mr Fickle was exactly what the name suggested: fickle. He was a nervous fellow and for the Minister to put him in charge of the advanced supernatural search and retrieval of Draco Malfoy's body constantly put him in doubt of himself.

"I'm ready." Ron answered calmly. Mr Fickle nodded and buckled the safety device onto Ron's chest.

"I take it that you understand that this is a prototype, still in testing. It's the first time we're using it on a human being… It never did pass the first stages of experimentation…"

"What happened?" Ron asked before he could stop himself. He looked up at Mr Fickle, not really sure if he wanted to know anymore.

"Oh, nothing much really… Just fried the poor guinea pigs' brains to oblivion!" He squealed. Ron shivered, but stayed determined. "We will be guiding you every step of the way, so you haven't a need to be worried at all!"

"I'm not." Ron tried sounding confident, but his voice came out an octave higher than normal. Mr Fickle remained unconvinced.

"Okay, well, stage one…" Mr Fickle said nervously, flicking his wand.

It started out alright, in Ron's opinion. It felt like he was jumping from one person's viewpoint to another's. Time didn't seem to make sense. It felt like hours, yet only seconds at the same time, what felt like days was less than a minute... Mr Fickle had explained all of this to him.

The Thames, the Big Ben, the Buckingham Palace, they all zoomed into his vision. There were people he knew and people he didn't who wandered around, but no Draco Malfoy.

And then he saw him, healthy as could be in a little town by the name of Wippleton's… He shouted in joy, surprised at his success! A success greater than what he'd ever expected. He'd found Draco Malfoy _alive_! _'Wait till I tell Hermione,'_ he thought to himself.

And that's when he felt it: a sizzling burning inside his chest that grew more excruciating by the second. "No!" He screamed. "NO!" Not then... not just as he'd gained the key to the most important piece of information of all. The burning intensified, coursing through his body now, from his head to his toes. The picture of Draco smiling burned away and he yelled as realisation dawned on him. He had just almost certainly made the biggest and most dangerous mistake of his life…

* * *

Harry showed the bottle of _Plaisir de Mort_ to the nurse. He watched in pain as her eyebrows disappeared past her hairline in shock, wincing as the pain intensified as every second passed by without the nurse saying anything. "Nurse Eleanor, please, I need answers." Harry pleaded. The nurse tutted under her breath, her eyebrows settling lower.

"Mr Potter, you've to know the risks of overdoses of potions of any sort, never mind the illegal ones. Some have greater and worse effects while others are seemingly less potent… Now, _Plaisir de Mort_ was discovered by a French alchemist, Jean-Pierre Dieux. It is a rare and most complex concoction to brew and illegal in five continents of the world, might I add. Even without overdosing, it is a highly toxic mixture, designed to do one thing, and one thing alone: to offer the drinker a slow and easy road to death in a dreamlike state."

Harry widened his eyes in disbelief. "Do… do you mean to tell me… that she'll _die_?" The nurse shook her head violently in disagreement.

"There's hope for Miss Granger, I assure you. Every poison is not without its counteractant. I just hope it's not too late for her..." She curtsied and left. Harry plonked into an uncomfortable waiting chair and placed his head in his hands. What was happening to his world?

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" A voice broke through Harry's trance. His head snapped up to see a doctor rushing past, three men behind him pulling a gurney hosting a red-haired young man. Harry jumped to his feet.

"Ron?" He called, not so sure of himself until he caught a glance of the freckled face of his best friend. "RON!" This was a really, _really_ bad dream… It had to be. There was no way his world could come crashing down so fast and so hard. He crumpled to the floor, his chest shaking as sobs escaped. A pair of scuffed leather shoes appeared before him and he looked up.

"I… I'm sorry, Mr Potter…" Mr Fickle said nervously. Harry got to his feet, anger flooding into his mouth. It tasted of metal. He could feel his face turn red, suddenly blind to everything in his mind but Ron.

"What happened?" He said through clenched teeth. Harry wasn't angry at Mr Fickle, really. He knew Ron had done something incredibly stupid… and the price Ron paid for it was one that wouldn't let Harry escape unscarred. Mr Fickle shrank away.

"Mr Weasley insisted to use magical means to find Mr Malfoy's body… There was a lone prototype tool… Mr Weasley was more than willing to use it, and this very day at the Ministry, we tried it out… It seemed to work well at first, then… well… then the screaming began…" Mr Fickle said rather tragically. He looked up at Harry's bewildered face and bowed once before exiting.

Harry shook his head. His two best friends were in the same hospital, under life-threatening conditions, while he was left to saunter in the morbid hilarity of coincidence. He shut his eyes tight and Apparated into his own bedroom and fell onto the bed. If he fell asleep… If he slumbered away… maybe he'd wake up the following morning, knowing that today was a dream and nothing more… And with this, he fell asleep with hopes on high…

* * *

_Ron grimaced in disgust at the young blonde man kneeling before him. It was one thing for a foul, soulless git to become a Death Eater and be proud of it, but it was another for a coward like Draco Malfoy to come begging for forgiveness the moment Voldemort dropped dead. He felt like kicking the living daylights out of him – he deserved no less. After all the trouble and grief Malfoy had made his family go through... He tightened his fists._

"_Ron, I'm so sorry…" Malfoy choked, the raw pain exposed so nakedly in his voice immediately stabbing Ron in every part of his body, mind and soul that could feel, places he never knew he had. Ron stumbled back, but regained his strength. He couldn't be moved by Malfoy's filthy, meaningless words. "I can't begin to tell you how _much _I'm sorry. It's not fair for me to lose so little and you to lose so much."_

"_For once, Malfoy, you're bloody right." He'd tried to keep most of the anger from sprouting in his voice, but he couldn't help it – his words shook with the agony-fuelled fury that had been locked away inside his chest for too long. How many had died because of the piece of dirt that lay cowering by his shoes? George, Tonks, Professor Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Dumbledore… "You've no right to ask for my forgiveness. You've no right to show your bloody face here. I don't need you to make my life any worse than it is now."_

"_I know..." Draco had muttered the words, more for himself to hear than for Ron to, but Ron heard them nonetheless. "I wish for some way I could lighten the burden by even the slightest degree."_

_That did it. Ron's whole body convulsed with the maddened rage that filled every fibre of his being. "Get out, you vermin." He spat through clenched teeth. Malfoy looked up at him in shock._

"_I… I never meant to offend you in any way." He pleaded, the desperate hopelessness ripping across his face. Ron ignored it. Instead, he clasped Malfoy's shirt and pulled him up before throwing a punch across his face. He ignored the blood that splattered on the floor._

"_Get the hell out before I do the job myself, Malfoy. You're a shredded, damned and soulless creature who doesn't deserve to walk this land. The earth doesn't want you, heaven sure as hell doesn't want you. Where the bloody hell do you belong, Malfoy? WHERE THE BLOODY HELL DOES YOUR SHIT-FACED ARSE BELONG, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT???"_

_He threw another punch at the blood-drenched blonde. Draco felt the blows, his body becoming more bruised and bloody by every punch, but he didn't fight back. He didn't resist in any way, because he knew it was all true. Where did he belong? What was he, a soulless creature doomed to the fiery depths of hell? Or did hell not want him either?_

_He felt the blows against his ribs crack something, but it could be ignored – any means of physical pain could be subdued, drowned by the will of the mind, like his father had once said. But the sorrow, the pain his heart pounded into his bloodstream, the pain that burned like venom… there was no way to soften it, no way to conquer it. There was no lesson made by man that could help him to overcome it. All he could do was stand and watch as it burned and consumed him._

"_You wished you could lighten my burden by the slightest degree. Here's a suggestion, you piece of good for nothing rubbish: Do us all a favour; dig a hole, crawl into it and BLOODY DIE!!!" Ron shouted one last time before throwing Draco out of the door, onto the pavement. Draco heard the door bang shut._

_Time passed; the evening sky slowly turned from its beautiful show of fiery kaleidoscope of colours to a black that shrouded every corner of his mind. He slowly gathered himself and stood up, ignoring the aching bruises and the uncomfortable sting of his blood-caked head, and started walking away from hope, truth and all things good and light. He'd tainted them enough already…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five - Deepest Secrets**

_"Tell him - love, with speech at strife, /For last utterance saith: /I, who loved with all my life, /Love, with all my death."_ -Extract from 'Messages' by Francis Thomas

* * *

The brutal wind blew harder, pounding against the clattering window panes. Harry stared out of the hospital windows; the landscape outside a dull shade of grey, blurred from the pouring sheets of rain. He sat beside Hermione, gripping her hand so tightly her circulation must have cut off five minutes ago; his skin stretching an unnatural white over his knuckles.

He could see the tinges of the cold, grey hospital walls in his peripheral vision and inhaled a shaky breath, fighting the urge to rip the depressing wallpaper down. What he wouldn't give to have the luxury of giving into his impulses; to watch the rest of the world be torn to pieces… to make it feel what it forced him to feel.

"I did a stupid thing, Hermione," He intoned, his voice flat and lifeless. His face remained smooth and unmoving. Like stone. "I didn't think. Ron's here too, you know. Tried to find that bloody chopper. Landed himself in a sodding mess..." Harry managed to sound a dry, heartless chuckle that only faded back into the disturbing silence that lay thick over the room.

"I don't know what to do with you. The nurse says there's an antidote on the brew, but I say sod it all. I don't give a rat's bollocks what they do to help you physically. You... you tried to off yourself. You tried to off yourself right under my nose. Where was I??? Where was I that you couldn't turn to me???"

For the first time, Harry gave in a little to the pain that ate away at his soul. He closed his eyes tight and drew in a ragged breath, doubling over from the unbearable hollowness that twisted his insides. He turned away from the window, looking at Hermione's still face for the first time since he'd entered the room. He looked at her with a desperation that nagged at every limb on his body.

"What kind of a friend am I? Ron's unconscious, you're halfway to dead and I'm stuck here without a clue what the heck I'm supposed to do. I just... I can't do it... I can't go through it any more…"

'_Knock knock.'_ Harry turned around to face Nurse Eleanor. How long had she been standing there? He calmly let go of Hermione's hand as he stood up to address the nurse.

"Good news, Mister Potter. Professor Bane has just finished the concoction. It's being bottled as we speak." She gave a reassuring smile and bowed her head slightly, before heading for the door.

Lightning streaked across the fast-darkening sky, followed by the deafening roar of thunder. Somehow, Harry couldn't react to the Nurse's comment. There was just so much less at risk when his expectations didn't rise.

* * *

Nurse Eleanor halted in front of one of the many wooden doors that lined the surgically white corridor. She flattened her dress out and breathed in a heavy lungful of air in order to steady herself. She had the antidote in her pocket but she couldn't help feeling worried, unprepared. emTen years of experience didn't make each case any easier,/em she thought to herself. She raised a loose fist and tapped the door three times before entering, not bothering to wait for a response.

"The antidote's ready, Mister Potter. We're ready to proceed." She looked at the crouching figure, who only remained silent and nodded once. She couldn't help but feel her heart melt with sympathy. She couldn't imagine what he was going through. She couldn't imagine how much the bitter mixture of pain, guilt and sorrow burned and bit at his heart.

She laid one hand on his shoulder. It felt cold. "There's a very promising chance that she'll walk out of this hospital alive and well again." She removed her hand and walked to the hospital bed that hosted Hermione's frail body. Pulling out a tiny bottle from her dress pocket along with her seven-inch mahogany unicorn-hair-cored wand, she began to explain the procedure to Harry, who only nodded along although his ears were deaf to her words.

"The contents of the bottle need to be extracted by my wand," she explained as she followed the steps herself, "and must be allowed to sink into the patient's skin. The antidote will then work its way through her bloodstream, entrapping the toxin..."

It took only five minutes to do this and soon Nurse Eleanor was standing upright again, packing away the empty bottle and her wand. She turned from her patient to Harry, facing him with the most earnest expression she could muster. "It won't seem like it, but it's already working as we speak. She'll be showing signs of progress in an hour or two." And with that, she left Room 3456.

Harry looked once at Hermione's face. His stomach growled. He almost burst with lifeless laughter again, not failing to see the sense of humour in the works of nature, even when things were utter crap. He shook his head and stood from his chair. "Starving myself won't help you at all, will it, Hermione?" He muttered, standing to leave the depressing hospital room.

The door slammed shut, just as a single word left Hermione's pale, cold lips... "Draco..."

* * *

_I wish there was another way. I do, with more desire than I have ever burnt with. But just the thought of being able to go through it all with no thought or feeling is far too tempting. It's more than what I want. It's what I need._

**

_"Was there love once? I have forgotten her. /Was there grief once? Grief is yet mine. /O loved, living, dying, heroic soldier. /All, all, my joy, my grief, my love are thine!" _-Extract from 'Fulfilment' by Robert Nichols

_The memories flooded back to me. Those unwanted, loathsome memories of how things used to be... how things made me feel. I futilely tried to shrink back into my little secluded corner, away from the painful, blistering bright light. But how could I resist relishing those brief but beautiful moments that shaped me into who I am? And so I tasted it, smelt my lover's cologne, tasted his strawberry lips just once and indulged myself in the rare replays I could never have afforded before. _

_I didn't care about how strange my thoughts were. The very existence of them was wrong - Plaisir de Mort should have drowned everything out...But I just didn't care. All I knew was that I had this one chance to relive my moments with him. And there was no way I would refuse... No way I _could_ refuse... _

* * *

_The horrible weather suited how Hermione felt. As the sky moaned, heavily burdened by the grey undesirables that hung by a thread, she felt her heart tug deeper into her stomach. The sky crackled and together they let out a choked sob, cracked and peeled around the edges... broken. _

_She knew how much her pain would hurt Ron and Harry if they ever found out… they could never find out how much the stress was killing her. She just felt like giving up. There was no defeating Voldemort. Everyone could see it. The only difference between her and the rest of the trio was that they had blinded themselves with false hope and she just accepted the facts for what they were. _

_Hermione licked her lips. She could distantly feel the raindrops pelting onto her fast-numbing face, but she didn't care. To care about such a small, infantile thing would be a relief. A huge welcome in comparison to the heavy burdens her responsibilities were becoming. She buried her body deeper into the soil. _

"_If there's anyone out there! Anyone up there! It would do me quite a bit of good if you could just send down a lightning bolt or something and strike me dead already!" She hoped. But she knew there was no way this could be her fate. There was too much she had left to do. There was too little she'd leave behind. _

_So she pretended. She pretended this was her grave. She pretended this was her death. She lay still, stiller than the unbreathing vampire in his sleeping coffin, her heart the only betrayer to her sweet pretence. And she felt it. The oncoming peace, the ecstasy and joy of escaping. And it felt so right. _

_"No!" Hermione wrenched her eyes open as she felt two swift arms lift her from her bed of dirt. She stared into cold grey eyes that in return stared into hers. _

"_Get your foul hands off of me, Malfoy!" She hissed, pushing her hands against her foulest enemy's chest. He was unaffected by her struggling, but released her nonetheless as soon as he realised what she was attempting to do. He quickly fixed his worried face into the twisted expression that was mirrored on Hermione's face. _

_They stood staring daggers at each other with their eyes, but soon Hermione felt it. She felt her grimace ebb away as her sorrow crept back in. She shook herself, slamming her wrist into her forehead. This was not the place or the time. If her stupid heart couldn't keep itself intact for the couple of minutes she had to face Draco Malfoy, she would cease to live. But her heart was her heart. The past few years had cracked it, softened it and now it was melting away, like butter, in front of the one person she'd rather die than allow watching her crack. She cursed her luck through her cracking throat. _

_All she wanted to do was to sink back into her 'grave'. Her shoulders slouched. She couldn't do anything. She had become nothing. She might as well follow her heart's true desires before Malfoy avada-kedavra'd her into oblivion. And so she allowed her numb legs to fold and her body to rest in the hole once more. _

_"W-What are you doing?" Malfoy stammered, edging closer to her. _

_"Dying." A silence. She waited for the green light to emerge. Nothing yet. _

_"You should go inside. You'll catch a cold." _

_"What's my health to you?" She spat through clenched teeth, opening her eyes and finding them looking into his. He turned away and ran a hand through his rain-drenched blonde hair. Before Hermione could say any more, he was pulling at it, grimacing against the pain, clumps of hair falling entwined in his fingertips. She flew up, her hands reaching towards him as a reflex to prevent him from becoming the next bald wonder. "Stop it!" _

_As soon as they touched his marble-white skin, he pulled his hands away. Away from her mudblood hands. She felt an anger boil inside her chest. "Sorry," She said sarcastically. "Forgot that you Malfoys are too good for the touch of a foulblood." _

_"You just don't get it, do you?" He spat harshly, causing her to flinch. His words stung like venom; something Hermione hadn't expected. "You think that I think you're not good enough for me, don't you? That you're shit compared to what I am?" He strode up to Hermione, his face inches from hers. He held out his hands, wringed and twisted as though they were about to wrench her arms out of their sockets. A moment passed before he relaxed them and laid them to rest at his sides. "_I'm_ not good enough." His voice softened, breaking as they escaped his throat. _

_"You're my greatest enemy, Granger." He muttered, boring holes into her head, inching closer and closer by the second. "I work for the darkest wizard the magical world has ever seen. And you're... You're an angel sent down from the heavens to withstand the fires of the feud between the good and the evil. Everything we know stands between us. Everything we've been through tells us to hate. But then why is it that while every single part of my mind tells me to hate you, despise you, clasp my hands around your throat, every single particle that holds me together is telling me to kiss you right now?" _

_Before she could process any of this, his lips smashed onto hers. She felt her heart burn, not with the seething hatred she had mistook it for all those years, but with the all new realisation of an emotion that just couldn't be... That was impossible... yet somehow inevitable... And she kissed back._

* * *

Harry stood in the doorway, having had his stomach filled with disgusting hospital grub and holding a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand. He watched Hermione, still as lifeless and immobile as before, and gasped as the little hope he had unwillingly kept in his heart squashed flat, painfully and mercilessly.

An hour must have passed already. Why wasn't she showing any signs of improvement? Some sign that said that it would be alright. He sat down on the chair beside the hospital bed and rubbed his eyes as sleep threatened to reign over. He took a long drought of coffee. He couldn't sleep now. Not while his two best friends lay unconscious in hospital beds.

He sat for another three minutes, waiting for the coffee to rid the sleepiness forty-eight hours of staying awake had gathered. But his body had its limits and at some point, caffeine had become ineffective, and soon his head rested on the soft white sheets that stretched out from over Hermione, for once giving his mind and body the one thing it needed – a few hours of escape.

* * *

_Hermione trotted down the corridor, tugging nervously at her brown, curly hair. Her footsteps echoed through the remote passageway and she tried to focus on them, but she couldn't clear the uneasiness that had settled in her heart. _

_She knew it was wrong – more than wrong but she couldn't help herself. She could tell she was addicted to his love. To the comfort his presence brought. And there was no way out now. Draco's love had become a cage that trapped her, bound her. And she didn't know what was worse, that she couldn't escape or that she had no desire to do so. She turned a corner and stopped on reaching her destination. She paced around, muttering something over and over again under her breath and a minute later, a door appeared where solid brick had been a moment before. Without giving a single moment's hesitation, she opened the door and entered._

_She faced a dimly lit room furnished with black furniture. Something tugged at her heart, but she dismissed it, not in the mood to face the guilt that covered her heart in a thick embrace. She let out one steady breath before stepping in, leaving all her troubles by the doorway, set ready for her to pick them up again when she exited. For now, however, she just wanted to savour the few moments she had here. _

"_Hermione?" Draco called, calm and collected. The tough years of living under his father's wing had made him drown out anxiety… as well as just about every other emotion. _

"_Um… present." She muttered nervously, standing awkwardly in front of Draco. Draco chuckled, running a pale hand through his hair. He let out a soft sigh as she trailed her fingers along the edges of the black table beside her, softened and varnished. _

"_Hermione… I - " Before he could finish his sentence, Hermione dove into his arms, kissing him fiercely, her lips desperate, hungry and yearning for him. He kissed back eagerly, but soon pulled her gently away. "Slow down," he chuckled again, causing Hermione to redden in embarrassment. _

"_Sorry," she muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She started tugging at her hair again, a growing habit. She let him lead her to the black couch and settle her down as he conjured a glass of butterbeer for her. He suddenly seemed nervous, his hands clammy with sweat. "What is it?" _

"_Hermione…" He tried again, battling to out whatever he held prisoner in his chest. "The last few days have been hectic. Being with you gave me more than just a place to escape from this crazy and unjust world… It gave me a home, a refuge, a safe haven. You gave me everything I could ever ask for and more." _

"_Draco, I feel the same." Hermione cooed, about to dive in for another kiss just as Draco held her back. Her eyebrows twisted in confusion. _

"_But no matter how great and right this feels… It's _not_ right. It's abominable and it's selfish for me to have even considered this." Hermione's eyebrows unravelled themselves as she realised what he was trying to say. _

"_You're breaking up with me? You're allowing yourself to lose me?" _

"_I can't lose what I've never had. You don't belong to me. You can't associate yourself with someone like me. You need someone strong, someone good. It won't matter how much I want to be that person for you. I just can't be." He turned away, his eyes rapidly filling with tears. He couldn't imagine what his father would do if he'd been there to witness such a weakness. In fact, he didn't know what his father would be more disgusted at: the fact that he'd allowed such a weakness to be shown or the fact that he was fraternising with a muggle-born._

_Hermione watched Draco as he internally fought with himself. "Draco," she whispered into his ear. She uncurled his clasped hands, placing one directly over her chest, exactly where her heart was. _

"_W-what are you doing?" _

_Hermione shushed him as she took her own hand and placed it over his chest, where his heart laid beating. "Can you feel it?" She asked calmly. He nodded once. "Do you remember that day in the rain?" Another nod. "I could never be more alive than I am now. That day in the rain… more than thirty methods of suicide were running through my head. You'd know how painful it is to know there's no hope, watching others fall harder and harder as their hopes keep rising. I was in an unsalvageable state. This heart right here wouldn't be beating right now if it weren't for you." _

_Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione pressed her finger against his lips. "I don't care if you think you're not good enough for me. Because your love is all I need. There's no one else for me until the day you stop loving me." _

_She leaned in, softly and slowly, and planted a light kiss on his lips. She could feel his resistance in the kiss, but soon it ebbed away. She knew it wasn't over yet, but for now… it was enough._

* * *

Nick bolted upwards, gasping as his lungs tried to grasp at the hot air around him. His eyes darted around, absorbing the surrounding environment, searching for some sort of familiarity. He let out a sigh and relaxed his posture a bit as he realised he was still in the cottage, protected by the four tightly packed walls.

"Nick? Are you alright?" He looked up at a shocked Doctor Kinev, only realising then that he was trembling terribly, drenched in cold sweat. "Nick?"

"I... I think..." He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, trying to regain control. "I think... I think I remember..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six - Breaking Point**

_My body then doth hers involve, /And those things whereof I consist hereby /In me abundant grow, and burdenous, /And nourish not, but smother." _- Extract from 'The Dissolvant' by John Donne

* * *

Doctor Kinev stood shocked, his hand still resting on the switch. He stared at Nick, his expression unfathomable, but a single second later, it broke into the first smile Nick had ever seen his face display. "That's brilliant, Nick! Or… what should I call you?"

"Oh… um… it's not like a flood of memories sweeping me away all at once… more like just one memory… a good memory… At least I hope it's a memory." His eyebrows stitched together once more as he nervously fidgeted with his blankets. Doctor Kinev's smile shrank slightly, but still laid thick on his face.

"It's still progress, I guess," The doctor muttered timidly, stammering slightly. He thought for a moment before taking a seat next to Nick. "I'm interested Nick. Could you tell me what it was you remembered?" Nick sat up, running his hand through his hair.

"There was this... stretch of green land, the type that just goes on for miles as far as the eye can see... It was beautiful, untainted and... pure in a way. And up above us was this vast wash of light blue sky, hosting the faintest hints of white clouds. It was strange, because I could taste the air around me, seasoned with the scent of summer rain and spring flowers and it made me feel... happy. Nothing but pure bliss… And then she was next to me. She was beautiful, Doc. A divine being, with such unbreakable perfection that would haunt every man who caught a sinful glimpse of her. We were just talking. Nothing more than that, really… Just talking. But it wasn't the words or the actions that mattered. It was the honesty… the perfect trust between us. That's what mattered. That's what made us whole." Nick smiled a bit as he stared into Doctor Kinev's eyes.

"Seems like you're a lucky man, Nick. You've got a lady waiting for you." Doctor Kinev answered, smiling warmly.

"Yeah… I hope so."

* * *

"Damnit, Nurse, just do something!" Harry shouted as he punched the wall beside him, a hole appearing where there'd been a perfectly clean and solid wall before. He shut his eyes as he tried to calm his trembling self. Slowly gathering himself, he ejected his already bruised and bleeding hand out of the wall, as he looked down at the white-clan woman. "I… I'm sorry, Nurse Eleanor. I know you're doing all you can. I know the potion will tell us when it's working in due time, but this waiting is biting on my nerves."

Nurse Eleanor calmly placed a friendly hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Mr. Potter, I don't understand and I don't expect to understand much, but I do know that you're going through something so terrible, where life and everything else in this world seems to be against you. Your two best friends are in extremely bad, but not unfixable, conditions and your other mate, what was his name...? Ah, yes, Draco Malfoy has only recently passed away. It's only natural that you start letting your emotions out. I'll be in the passageway, out of your way to give you two some privacy. If you need me, you know what to do."

"Thank you, Nurse Eleanor."

He turned to Hermione and shut his eyes tightly, just to regain sentience and keep his walls upright. He didn't have the power to speak to Hermione anymore. He couldn't touch her… He couldn't feel anything towards her… There was nothing to touch, nothing to feel. All he could do was just… wait, and hope things would turn for the better.

* * *

_"Go; and if that word have not quite killed thee, /Ease me with death, by bidding me go too. /Or, if it have, let my word work on me, /And a just office on a murderer do." _- Extract from 'The Expiration by John Donne

* * *

_The sun set lower, beautiful rays of red, orange and purple painting the skies in everlasting shades. The trees danced playfully and pleasantly, as the wind sang a sorrowful song. Any other day, Hermione would have stared at the intangible, wondrous masterpiece of which Nature was the undefeated artist, and absorb every little detail her eyes could sponge in. But today was another day. She stood with tears in her eyes, gazing in wonder at his breathtaking face… How the warm colours of the sunset curved around the contours of his cheeks, reflecting off of his sad, yet somehow warm, grey eyes… _

_She wanted to comfort him, stroke his porcelain face and lift his worries; give his forehead a rest from the frowns that lay so dominant over it. She wanted so much to see the smile she had discovered to be the most beautiful in the world during the short time she'd been with him. But he refused to be touched, comforted… loved._

"_Draco…"_

"_No, Hermione," Draco said, stepping away as she tried to get closer. The anguish and the torment that ripped through his face made her want to cry harder, to scream. For his pain had become hers. She wanted to knock him sensible and make him understand that she wanted him… needed him now more than ever. She was addicted to him more than she could be to any drug in the history of mankind… and withdrawal would be fatal._

"_Hermione, I won't be here next term," He started, staring longingly into her pained, teary eyes. "When you get back from the holidays, with that hopeful heart you always have and those burning, determined eyes of yours… Don't search the hallways for me, because I won't be here for you to find me."_

"_What are you talking about? Is… Is something wrong back home? Is your mother sick again?"_

"_No, that's not it. When I said 'I won't be here', I meant the Draco Cassius Malfoy that you've learned to love… he won't be here. Instead, I'll be the smirking, loathsome boy who'd tormented you for the past six years. I'll be the one you hated, despised with all your life. The boy you couldn't even stand to be in the same room…"_

"_Draco, don't do this!"_

"_I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry I couldn't be the one for you. I'm sorry for not being strong enough, and damn it, I wish I was! But I'm scared to death… My father... The Dark Lord... They'll both realise how detached I've been. They'll both realise that I love you, and they'll do worse things than just kill me, Hermione."_

"_Professor Dumbledore can protect you, Draco! The Order can do so much to protect you, if you just let them!" Hermione fought back, striding up to Draco while he tried to back away, only to be backed up against a wall. She held his cold face in her hands, gently, tenderly, as though it were something fragile, and looked up at him. "They can protect you."_

"_But they can't protect _you_, Hermione." Draco murmured, softly touching her cheek too. "They can't do a single thing to protect you from him… Not enough, anyway. I don't care about me; not anymore, love. I don't need anything else but for you to be safe and the only way I know how to keep you from harm is by leaving."_

_Hermione pushed herself away from him. She could feel the violent anger licking against the walls of her stomach, the burning of the hurt that singed her heart to nothing but a lump of molten rock. There was so much she didn't understand, so much that she wished she didn't understand and so little that provided an answer to her liking. "What happened to going the right way? What happened to the promises you made? You're not being a good person by running away and being all self-sacrificial, Draco. You're just being an arse, an utter moron!"_

"_This /emisem the right way! This is the only way I know, Hermione, and my promises mean nothing if you're not here!" He shouted, needing her to understand, needing her to realise that he needed this. He needed her to see that without this, there'd be no point in his life. "I'm sorry that I can't be, Hermione, but it'll be enough for me."_

_"It's not enough, Draco. It'll never be enough for you, don't you get it?"_

_"No, Hermione, it'll be enough... It'll be enough for me to know that you're safe, that you're still breathing. It'll be enough to know that there might be a possibility of us in the future, or at the very least that you will be alive to be able to find love in another person; someone who's better at loving you than I am."_

_"So this is it?"_

_"Yeah... This is it," he said softly. He fought the urge to hug her, kiss her, touch her one last time. This was what they both needed - a clean break. He couldn't confront her again. Not without giving into whatever she asked, not without granting every wish she begged of him... He didn't have the energy to fight anymore. This was all the power he had - the power to walk away. He turned around and started, hoping against hope that she wouldn't call him back._

"_Draco!" She called. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned back around, his eyes still hosting the same determination he'd portrayed a minute ago, only now it wasn't so much in his heart. He watched her walk slowly towards him, her stance fierce and proud, yet something in her eyes betrayed the sorrow she held in her heart. "I understand, Draco… and I accept."_

_He felt the air release from his lungs in what he knew was something other than relief. Although this was what he needed, it was definitely the exact opposite of what he wanted. It killed him… hurt him deeper than anything ever could have._

"_Do you want me to hate you, Draco?" Hermione asked, gently touching his fingers with hers. His breath caught._

"_I need you to hate me, Hermione."_

"_Then burn it away, Draco… Burn my love away until there's nothing left but ashes and smoke."_

"_What?"_

"_Lay with me tonight, Draco," Hermione said, taking his hand. She felt him cringe away, but she could still feel his hands in hers. It was crazy, insane, preposterous, an abomination! And yet, she was willing to give every part of herself to him, give everything to him to make the one last night she had with him count. She took his hand and placed it over her waist._

"_I can't do this to you, Hermione." _

"_I need this, Draco! I need this to be able to break it to myself. To say it's really over." Hermione edged closer, closing the gap between them. She gently touched his neck with her soft lips, tracing his jaw line down to his collar bone. "Say you hate me, Draco," She whispered into his ear._

"_I… I hate you, Hermione…" Draco sounded a moan of disapproval as she withdrew herself from him by an inch._

"_Hold me, Draco… I need you to hold me."_

_Without needing any more consent, Draco dove in, crashing down onto Hermione like a tidal wave. She pulled him closer, impossibly close, yet still not close enough; the non-existent space between them far too large, too empty. She could feel him everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time; his touch a burning flame, and a remedy... She shut her eyes closed as the fireworks crackled in her brain, blinding her senseless; drowned, suffocated, consumed all things familiar, and filled her with a new frenzy of passion she'd never experienced before that soared through every inch of her body…_

* * *

"NURSE!!!" Harry yelled, his guttural voice pounding through the hallways, reverberating off the clean, white walls. He could hear the throbbing pulse of the healers' feet on the floor, yet it was nowhere close to fast enough. The adrenaline spiked through his bloodstream, smouldering time into nothing but a disfigured, molten symbol of worthlessness.

"_Mr Potter! You've got to move away!" _

He could feel two hands pulling at him with mighty force, but he was anchored, bolted to the floor. He knew he had to move; there was so much on the line here, so much that depended on him throwing himself away onto the other side to give room for the healers, but he couldn't will himself. He was paralyzed with fear, with stupid emotions that clouded his mind.

_"Mobiliarbus!"_

He saw a purple light surround him, and the next thing he knew, he was on the other side of the room, watching the healers in their clean white coats examine Hermione; muttering spells and fighting the deafening sound of the flatline that echoed throughout the room.

What was hope, when every experience pointed to its very absence? What was truth, when lies overpowered everything and what was good didn't matter anymore? What was the point of hanging on, when all life seemed to do was cut away at the very rope that kept you from falling and losing everything that was worth hanging on for?

He felt his body rise from the concrete hospital floor and felt his legs automatically moving, and soon he found himself outside the hospital room, walking to the front doors. He wished he had the energy or the willpower to stand up against the mutiny that was taking place between his survival instincts and his volition. To give ammunition and support to his side. But it was time to fly the white flag and surrender, time to allow his primitive nature to rule over and protect him from the self-destruction that was so close to happening. It was time to allow himself to run away.

* * *

"Do you think she's waiting for you, Nick? Do you think she still knows you're alive?" Jensen asked inquisitively, stepping into the room. Nick turned his head to face his visitor. It was dark in the room, surely night, and not a single lamp was lit; the only way Nick could identify that it was the eight-year-old boy was by the abnormally small silhouette by the doorway and his voice.... His voice? There was something wrong... Like it didn't quite sound right, but Nick shrugged it off. He was probably imagining it anyway.

"I don't know, buddy." Nick answered, really unsure of the answer. It had been a while since he'd been found here in Wippleton's, which meant it had been a while since he was missing there on the other side of the world... But still, he hoped. He loved her, he could tell from the way he felt warm in even the coldest of nights; fired up by the thought of her. The way his insides seemed to tumble and twist, and his head seemed to burst as thoughts and anything close to logic didn't seem to matter and clashed with each other. "I hope so, though."

He smiled and looked down at Jensen, who, from what he could make out in the dark, seemed to be beaming up at him. "What're you smiling at, Jensen?"

The little blonde boy shrugged. "I know I'm too young for this, but it seems sort of romantic how you hang onto hope."

"You're a funny, little kid, Jensen, you know that?" Nick said, laughing aloud. He looked up at the clock that hung from the wall and frowned. "Hey, it's getting a little late, don't you think? Shouldn't you be at home? You know, with your parents?" He turned to Jensen, who suddenly pushed his arm aside and jumped off the bed. "Jensen?"

"Don't make me go back there, Nick!" The little boy shouted angrily, tears welling up in his eyes.

Nick stood up, unsure of what to say; he was used to Jensen's random outbursts, but he'd never seen him this panicked. The creases on his forehead disappeared suddenly, as an abrupt realisation hit him. _His voice..._ He fumbled in his bedside drawer, cursing as his useless fingers clumsily pushed everything they touched to the ground. Finally, his hands wound around a tiny box. He slid the lid aside and drew out a single matchstick. After two foiled attempts, the third matchstick caught fire and he quickly set flame to the wick of a nearby candle, before slowly turning around.

There was no way Nick could react at first; no way to bite back the horror, but no way to let it out either. He just stood, trembling and convulsing with fury, as though any minute he'd suddenly shed his skin. He absorbed the appearances of the little boy, everything from the welts and bleeding wounds that covered his face and limbs to the look of pure horror and fear etched across his face.

Jensen stood in front of him, tears in his eyes as he tried to keep locked the screams that pounded against the walls of his skin. As he tried to be a brave boy.

"You need to tell me right now what happened, Jensen." Nick commanded, feeling rotten and so sick to the core that he felt like he was going to be sick. How could he have not noticed before?

"It's not his fault! Really, it was mine! I-I-I knew how he'd be and I should've stayed away... I should've been a good boy." Jensen stammered through his sobs as the tears fell down his cheeks. "He-He's never around much... But he comes back every once in a while..."

"Who, Jensen? WHO?"

There was a silence that pierced them both. Nick knew what the answer would be... He didn't know how, but he could feel it, a familiarity that licked open old wounds. He kept his fingers crossed, hoped against all else that it wasn't... "It's my dad, Nick... He's not a bad man, Nick, really! He's not a bad man! It's just after his third cup that he gets like this..."

A violent anger rose inside of Nick, hellfire that was fed and fuelled by every second that he did nothing. He couldn't think; his mind was clouded by the blinding smoke of violence that choked, suffocated his every sense and thought. He didn't know what happened, but his body was driven by the rage that filled every corner of his mind, and somehow he was speeding out of the hospital room, across the fields; his mind and body set on only one thing.

He could distantly hear Jensen shouting after him in a desperate attempt to stop him, but there was no stopping him. He ignored the curious faces behind the windows, their peace having been disturbed by him, but he didn't care.

_"Wait! Nick! You don't understand!"_

Jensen watched him as he barged through the wooden door of Jensen's home, a red-bricked little cottage with a thatch roof. He heard his mother shout and curse in surprise and the roar of anger from his father.

"Oh, bollocks!" He started running, as fast as his little legs could go, not in fear for the fate of his parents, but more worried about his friend. Nick had become his escape, sort of a way to get away from the darkness, from the solitude and the abuse of his childhood life. Probably without even knowing it, Nick had given him the greatest gift: friendship, and there'd be nothing Jensen wouldn't do to keep that.

A flash of green light filled his home and the deafening screams of a man rang from the small red cottage; the sound of a man only inches from death. _No... No!_ Jensen ran harder, harder and harder, pushing himself past the limit until he reached the broken doorway. It was eerily silent... The silence of death...

"Nick?"

He walked through the wooden frame into the dark living room, a new sense of fear and dread dawning on him as he walked farther into the edifice. "Nick?!" He called out louder now. _Please don't be dead, please don't be dead,_ He chanted under his breath... and almost as an answer, he heard it: the first sign of life since he'd entered this dark domain; the slightest of a grunt.

"Nick!" Jensen shouted as he was filled with hope again. He ran into the kitchen, where he was sure that he had heard the grunt. He passed the two unconscious bodies of his parents and went directly to his waking friend.

Nick stirred from semi-consciousness to consciousness, the light-headed feeling of awaking from a deep sleep suddenly inflating his head, which only made it feel like it'd pop any minute. Like blowing more air into an already full balloon.

"Nick! You're alive! Thank goodness! You had me scared there for a minute." Jensen watched Nick's face as it changed from one of confusion to a sudden horror-filled realisation of what he'd done.

"Jensen, where are your parents?"

"Right over there. My father started snoring a second ago. Bleeding poofer." He replied, looking over his shoulder to the fat man lying spread-eagled on the floor. Jensen rolled his eyes as his father mumbled something and scratched his chest before opening his mouth to continue snoring. He turned back to Nick, only to find himself looking at an empty space. "Nick?"

After another few minutes of searching the house, Jensen finally found him on the front porch. There was something wrong, something unsettling about the way that his shoulders were slumped and the way he looked so out of mind; as though he'd seen too much of the world too soon. "Nick, what are you doing here?"

There was no straightforward reply. And just when Jensen thought there'd be no answer to it, Nick spoke, with a voice so tired and so pained, that all Jensen wanted to do was to find a way to make it better. "What do you do, Jensen, when you realise the path you must go down is riddled with so many traps, so much darkness, that you know there's no way to get through it unscathed...? What... What do you do, when you know that there are things you have experienced that are so terrible that it might just be better left undiscovered? Do you carry on, hoping that whatever's at the end of that road is something worth carrying on for, or do you give up and just try to make better experiences in _this_ life?"

"I know I've still got things to learn, and that I don't know much, Nick, but I think that it's enough to say that you already have something worth carrying on for."

There was a silence between them for another minute. "What happened, Nick?" Jensen asked. "What is it that you remember?"

Nick hesitated, rubbing his temples with his left hand before staring into Jensen's eyes. "Pain, Jensen... Pain, death... and darkness."

* * *

_Draco fell to the ground in a slump, shirtless and covered in blood. His pants were ripped, torn and scratched open, exposing bleeding welts that made his legs look mangled and almost disfigured._

_"Why does my gut tell me, Draco, that you've been lying to me?" He couldn't make out the shapes in the darkness, but the voice was one that was too familiar to have been that of a stranger... It was the cold, emotionless, loathsome voice of his father. Draco let out a sneer._

_"I wonder why, Father," He shouted back mockingly in any odd direction, "the Dark Lord keeps you... I mean, it's not like the Dark Lord at all, don't you think? To take in a coward as a follower!" He knew what his father's reaction would be but he didn't care. He merely bit back the screams that scraped against his throat as he was hit by another torture curse that sent him rippling through the air._

_"You disgust me, Draco."_

_Draco refrained from speaking any more, knowing that if he opened his mouth even by the slightest degree, there'd be no keeping the pain in, no restraint to keep him from giving into his father's will. He tumbled to the floor as the sudden release from the curse threw him against it; panting hard as he tried to regain control over himself. _

_He hated his father. He hated every bit of his world, the world that was cruel, sadistic, full of despise and unnecessary war... He was living in a bare land, stripped of all things good by the one person who was supposed to protect him. A sudden rage filled him, pouring into every part of his body, gaining control over him. He didn't fight it, he didn't keep it bottled. Instead, he welcomed it and the power it gave him; he let it drive him, master him and fill him until he felt whole again for the length of a second._

_And suddenly there was white and green everywhere, a light that flooded every corner, every millimetre of the room... Magic in the rarest and purest form, created by nothing more than an emotion. And then it was gone, taking all other light, but also all other darkness with it. He could see in the blackness of the dark, as clear as daylight. Draco stood from the floor, waiting for his father to fling another curse at him._

_But nothing happened. Draco frowned. It was too still, too quiet... He looked around him, his fingers trembling from the exertion and lack of energy left from... whatever in the world it was that he did. But it didn't matter. All he needed to do was find his father and make sure that he didn't obliterate him... As much of a bastard Lucius Malfoy was, he was still Draco's father; something not even the greatest of wizards could change. _

_Draco let out a sigh of relief as the first sound of life broke the unnatural silence in the room. His father was unconscious, only a few feet from him, his face hosting something Draco had never seen in his life before, something that seemed so impossible until then: a look of peace where hostility used to be._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven - Comatose**

"_Alas! that death-like Sleep, or Night, /Should power have to close those Eyes; /Which once vy'd with the fairest Light, /Or what gay Colours, thence did rise." _- Extract from 'Sleeping on Her Couch' by Richard Leigh

* * *

The windows were shrinking, smaller and smaller until finally they disappeared into the grey walls that were starting to close in, constrict. It had been so long since Mrs. Weasley had felt like this – so long since the venomous bite of endless waiting and constant nerve-fraying worrying about the fate of her child had taken immediate and absolute control over her.

The War had stolen so many so close to her heart, ripped them away from her motherly love; it had been merciless in doing so too: with the return of the prodigal son, Percy, was the departure of Fred… Dear Fred… Molly clutched her heart as she remembered the son she'd lost. She'd always complained about his foolhardy nature, ranting on about how she wished he'd give her a moment's rest… but now, there'd be nothing she wouldn't do to get him back, to feel that annoyance once again.

She felt Arthur's hand over hers, giving her a quick squeeze every once in a while to remind her that she wasn't alone. It helped by the slightest degree and the slightest did make all the difference in the world; and with every squeeze she acknowledged her husband with a nervous smile. She wiped away the tears that were forming in her eyes as soon as she saw her youngest child, Ginny, returning with two cups of coffee in her hands.

"Sorry, Mum," Ginny said, handing a cup to each of her parents. "They were out of tea… I put a lot of cream to dull out the strong taste."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Molly replied. She took a sip, the white, porcelain cup shaking as her fingers trembled.

Ginny made an attempt at a smile, which proved successful and turned to stand with her four other brothers. It was amazing how the Weasley family, considering the numbers, was able to fit into the tiny waiting room.

The Weasleys were well known by the wizarding community and all who knew them and all who could see the state they were in now would be shocked. All the red-haired members, who were all usually jolly, strong, and able to go through everything life flung at them, could do was portray the same look of anxiety, fear and impatience that was evident on anybody faced with the possibility of losing another loved one. Even George, whose foolhardiness and sense of humour had tripled since his twin brother's disappearance, could barely keep still as the restlessness throttled him.

Unable to bottle himself for any longer, he burst, "How long are we going to have to wait for? It's been three hours!"

"Now, now, George," Bill said soothingly, although he couldn't keep the worry from sprouting in his voice either. "The healers are obviously doing all they can… We're just going to have to be patient."

"Yeah, let's all be patient while our brother could be idying/i in there!" George retorted, throwing his hands up into the air.

"George –"

"Mrs. Weasley?" Everyone turned around to see the healer standing in the doorway of the waiting room, trying to look past the heads of the crowded area in search of the red haired family. "Mr and Mrs. Weasley?"

Nobody responded. This was what they were all waiting for and yet, now that the time had come and they were so close to getting what they needed, it seemed too intimidating, too spine-chilling; the thought of what could be waiting at the finish line seemed to keep them frozen. Just as the nurse opened her mouth to call for the Weasleys again, Arthur jumped up from his seat and shouted, "Here!"

They all took turns to stare into each other's eyes, hands joined, as though the blow would be much softer, less impactful, if they all stood together. And then, it was time to face the messenger.

The healer needed no confirmation from them to see that they were related to Ron. Their red hair, freckles, the same earnest expressions on their faces… It didn't take a genealogist to realise it.

"You must understand that what Mr. Weasley went through was both magically and physically damaging. If they'd kept him in that state for any longer, there'd be no doubt that he'd be dead before he reached the hospital…"

"Please, Healer Rosemary… Will you just tell us if our son will be alright?" Mr. Weasley pleaded.

The healer hesitated for a while, trying to find any other way that would seem less hurtful… but there was no other way. She let out a mouthful of air in defeat, something the Weasleys didn't fail to notice. "Your son is in a coma. The magical damage was too extensive… The only way we'll ever know if he'll recover is to just… wait and hope. I'm sorry."

There was nothing. Not even the buzz of talking from the other waiting families, who had all somehow disappeared, almost seemingly as though to give the Weasleys some privacy. It was the calm before the storm…

And then Mrs Weasley was sobbing, shouting, holding onto her husband, like she needed beyond words for something to keep her grounded, from disappearing completely; Arthur cried with her, but his grieving was quieter as though his pain and sorrow strangled him. Bill, George, Percy and Charlie all bowed their heads, tears escaping their eyes and rolling down their cheeks, George giving into his sobs as he suddenly remembered his lost twin and now his younger brother would join him.

The only one who kept her cool was Ginny, who stood confidently next to her brothers and parents, soothing them with a gentle rub on the back or a hug when they needed it. She didn't need to cry or break down… not when there was hope that her brother, Ron, would get better… not when that hope was worth holding on for.

* * *

Thoughts tumbled and twisted in and out of existence as darkness then light consumed him. A day, two nights, half-moons and stars… Everything seemed strange and complicated… There were no such things as matter or mass, no such things that concerned the mind or the soul… All there was was a feeling. A mere feeling of… content and security… All there was was a sense of familiarity that held him, bound him to it. And nothing could ever part them…

* * *

_[A few months ago, before Draco Malfoy's wake]_

_I'm a terrible person – there's no denying it, there's no ducking and diving from the hard and solid truth. I'm a terrible person and what makes it even worse is that nobody even realises it. _

_I see Harry, Hermione, my parents and my co-workers… And when they look at me, they don't really see… me. They see an image, a facade. They see the Ron Billius Weasley they want to see and they can't ever go beyond that. Because all they want to see is a pillock, and it's easier off that way. It's easier if all I am to them is a stupid man who never knows anything, who's really got a heart of gold, who's easy to trust and easy to love. And it's hard being the pillock. It's hard being underestimated and it's hard having no expectations, which only creates the expectation of there being nothing new to me, nothing beyond the expectation of nothing…_

_And sometimes it's just… not what I want. I don't want to be the lie-for-the-greater-good-guy. I don't want to be shunned away from the truth. But the idea of being stripped and exposed to the very core of my rotten soul… It's too intimidating, too consequential. Because if anybody could see right through me and into this black, black heart… well… It would suffice to say that Love, Tolerance and Forgiveness would not be enough to overcome the Disgust…_

_It all started with a feeling: Love… I loved Hermione. I never really noticed how I felt about her until sixth year… It felt like somebody had peeled the blinds from my eyes and let me absorb every little detail of her and just like that, I realised how much I wanted to be with her. I wanted to caress her, protect her from the world, spend the rest of my life with her. I knew that if ever there was a perfect one for me, it'd be her._

_But she didn't feel what I felt for her. I thought she did and even when I realised that she didn't, I blinded myself and I pretended that there was no other person she'd be with, no other man she could love better than me._

* * *

_Ron shuffled his feet against the ground, his fingers nervously fidgeting with his robes. Today was the day. It had to be – the sky was a perfect shade of blue, a sure good sign in Britain, the people were unusually peaceful and even the Slytherins seemed to be at peace with the Gryffindors. And anyway, he could feel it – it was time to make a move._

"_Seriously, Harry! I can't understand what's so difficult about doing something as simple as this! Ugh… fine, here's my essay on the History of Merrybuckle the Great… Now don't be thinking that I'll be doing this again, because I won't!"_

_Ron took in a deep breath as he nervously watched his two best friends approach him. _'This is it!'_ he muttered under his breath. He started racking his brain for ideas on how to split Harry from Hermione and get her alone. He could say that Hagrid was looking for Harry, or Professor McGonagall needed a quick word with the Gryffindor Quidditch team… But just as he'd come to the conclusion to say that Fred and George wanted a little chat with him, he saw Harry leave Hermione to walk by herself in order to get to Ginny._

_Any doubts about this being the day to finally ask Hermione out had dilapidated. He didn't particularly believe in omens – he'd always thought of divinations as rubbish and he'd only taken it to score good marks in his OWLs – but if all of this wasn't a sign for him to make a move, he didn't know what was. Even the fact that Harry was now with Ginny seemed to pass by him as his good mood elevated even further._

"_Hey, Ron!" Hermione greeted, giving him a wide smile. She sat down next to him and propped open her _Advanced Transfiguration for the Exceeding Witch or Wizard_. A long, awkward silence followed, to which Hermione didn't particularly notice although to Ron it seemed impossibly troubling._

"_Um… Hermione?" Ron asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to find the words. Hermione looked up from her book, her brown eyes burning into his soul. He'd never known a single person who could that: penetrate his layers right down to the core and make him feel so exposed, yet so welcome too._

"_What's wrong?" Hermione noticed the uneasiness that troubled her friend, for her eyebrows also knitted together to mirror his expression. Ron took another deep breath, the words forming clearly in his head._

"_You see, I bought two tickets to watch The Weird Sisters play during the holidays… I was going to go with Ginny, but she has other plans… So, I need someone to go with… I can't exactly go with Harry now, can I, considering it's _The Weird Sisters_ and he's what's keeping Ginny from going, so I thought you'd like to go… with me?" _

_Ron heard himself babble on. It seemed a lot cooler in his head, but it was fine – at least it was all out. And it wasn't all a lie. He had bought the tickets for Ginny, but since she proved to have a certain dislike for the three-woman band, she'd politely rejected them and said she had a date with Harry. He held his fingers together, hoping that whatever the response was, it would include a 'yes' somewhere. He watched as Hermione's pink lips parted, forming an answer; which should have only taken a mere second, but to him felt like hours of waiting._

"_I'd love to go, Ron," Hermione replied. Ron felt his heart pound harder and miss a beat or two as the answer caught him off-guard. But the unfinished tone in Hermione's voice called for a 'but' and he didn't fail to notice it either. "But… I'm going to Australia with my parents in the holidays… I'm sorry, Ron. It would have been nice to go to the concert with you, it's just… family, you know?"_

"_Oh… yeah! No, that's perfect, perfectly fine… Um… I guess I could take Luna…" Ron watched Hermione give another sheepish smile before hesitantly carrying on with her book. The timing had seemed so right and yet life had a way of bringing it all down just when you least expected it. He wouldn't give up, though… He cared for her too much to be let down by one rejection…_

* * *

_The days were growing colder; Ron felt it in his heart. He'd tried futilely to get Hermione to notice him, but all he got were sincere just-friends answers. He still hadn't given up though. He still hadn't been put out. He knew that girls were complicated and there'd be no way he'd ever understand them. So, he just hoped Hermione would come out of her shell when she was ready and if that took him carrying on pursuing her no matter what came in between, that's what he'd do._

_Besides, there was a thrill in chasing after a girl. There was a different taste to not necessarily getting what you wanted, because that's how it always is. The sweetest melody seems sweetest when it's not heard, and the tastiest cakes are tastiest when they're not eaten. It's the waiting and the chasing and the suspense of not knowing when or if you'll get what you want. It's those things that really make it so much better. _

_Ron shivered as he felt a chill run down his back and pulled the collar of his coat higher over his neck. He wanted to laugh out loud as he thought about how much he'd changed for her, for Hermione. He had hated mornings since the minute he'd been born and yet, today, there was nothing more refreshing than a stroll at five o'clock in the morning. Love did change him and it did a thorough job in doing so too. _

_He stopped by the Black Lake and took in a deep breath of fresh, moist morning air. There was nobody else outside – nobody crazy enough to take a walk outside of the warm, fire-lit common rooms just because they 'felt like it'. Ron took this as a good thing, the crazy part that is. Love made people crazy and crazy wasn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it was a really, really, uber-awesome, mindboggling kind of crazy. And that crazy was good._

"_I can't do this… I can't…" _

_Ron's head bolted up, looking around for the source of the voice. There was no way that that voice, so pained, so fragile, so delicate, could have been his own voice, because truth be told, even though he was crazy, he wasn't broken. That's when his eyes fell on the blonde boy on his knees._

_He felt a burning hatred for the fiend, but… somehow, the amount of pain the loathed Slytherin carried took the edge off Ron's hatred. He felt… sorry for him and felt ashamed and guilty for looking into such delicate, private matters. Yet, he stayed rooted to the spot, unable to keep his eyes off._

_He was drawn to this, he was curious. What wasn't he able to do? The fact that he showed remorse and the fact that he had broken down like this showed that he had humanity and dignity in him… He was human after all. Ron felt his eyebrows rise higher and higher as he leaned in to eavesdrop._

"_Get a bleeding hold of yourself, you good-for-nothing flobberworm!" Ron heard Draco say to himself. "You need to do this… I need to do this… For me and for her. I need to let go, I need to be brave…"_

_Ron couldn't process what he was hearing. This was too much for him to take in one day. Who was 'her'? Who did he need to do this for? Ron felt the sinking feeling in his heart as he realised how much he didn't really know Malfoy. He didn't really consider the reasons behind all the things Malfoy did, mostly because he'd thought there was nothing inside that thick head of his… And now he didn't know if he could be any more wrong._

"_Draco!"_

_Ron's neck clicked as he snapped his head to his left. He didn't need his eyes to confirm who the voice belonged to… He had been accustomed to it for so long, craved to hear it for days on end and even annoyed her just to hear that one most beautiful voice he'd ever heard._

_He watched Draco slowly get up from the ground and brush away the tears before Hermione could see. But Hermione could see. She could see the torment and the pain that was ripping him to shreds and all she could do in response was to take him into her arms and comfort him._

"_Hermione… I can't do this… I wish I could, but…"_

"_We've been through this before, Draco. I'm not leaving your side until you stop loving me…"_

_Hermione pulled away and looked him in the eyes, caressing his cheek. Before she knew it, she was kissing him, lips locked as their hands wandered fleetingly and desperately tried to hold on to each other; as though any minute they'd fall apart and there was no time to waste. _

_Ron tore his eyes away, unable to believe what his eyes had just seen. He felt a rage burning inside of him, churning his gut until it made him want to vomit. His heart upped its pressure and pumped the adrenaline faster and harder into his bloodstream, beating against his ribs with thundering hands until all he could do to sustain it was to clutch his chest in agony._

_There was malice in his eyes, a malice driven by the insanity that came with love; not the cheerful, loving, tender and hearty insanity, but the type that wound itself around the heart in a deathly embrace, like a strangling vine to a tree. The type that drove a man to a violent and malevolent turn._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight – Windows and Doors**

_"When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window." _- Extract from 'The Sound of Music'

* * *

"Ginny, settle down!"

"No, I refuse to just sit here and do nothing!" Ginny shouted back as she shrugged off her mother's commanding tone. "His friends – _best_ friends – are in _hospital_, fighting to stay alive and he's not _here!_"

"Maybe the War…"

"No! I refuse to believe he has any good excuse. He's a man, now, not some seventeen year old boy who had to face the Darkest Wizard of all time! And if he could do _that_, he can most definitely give his friends the support they need to get through this!"

Ginny pinched her eyes closed, pressing against them with her forefinger and thumb. "I'm going to his apartment to see where he is… How's Teddy, by the way?"

Mrs Weasley looked up from her knitting needles to look at her youngest child. She knew that the fierce, redheaded, crisply eighteen-year-old had inherited her own maternal instincts, and she was proud of it. Molly couldn't have asked for a better daughter than Ginny… but then again, that applied to every single one of her children.

"He's doing great. Not even three and he's already started to whizz around on that toy broomstick you got him… Not much unlike Harry, really. And he knows how to hold a conversation."

Ginny smiled. She'd wanted to take in Teddy as soon as she was out of Hogwarts, but her mother insisted on her getting her degree and starting her career before settling down. It didn't keep her from the little boy, though. She visited every weekend or so whenever she had time in between her studies and her internship at the Prophet.

"I think I'm going to take Teddy to Harry's. It's been a while since he's seen Harry's face and I think he misses it. He's always been fond of Harry."

"I think that's a great idea. Your father's looking after him at the moment… probably showing him how a… a… whatever that new muggle equipment's called! He's been obsessing over it since the day it came out…"

"Xbox?"

"Yes! That's the name. I don't see what all the fuss is about…"

"Mum, I've seen you ogling it every time you walk past it. If you really want to take a go, ask Dad to tell you what you have to do. I think you'll find it very… entertaining."

"Oh, hush." Mrs Weasley dismissed the comment, but Ginny could see the blush forming at her cheeks and knew at once that the thought still lingered in her head.

As soon as she saw her mother going back to knitting another sweater as a Christmas gift to one of her sons, she focused back onto her train of thought.

* * *

It was hot and sultry, the sun beating down on Ginny as she made her way across the street. She brushed away the few stray hairs that stuck to her clammy forehead before focusing her attention on the large bundle she held delicately against her chest with both arms.

He was heavier than when she last held him in her arms when he was only a little baby, and the weight was starting to cramp her arms, but she enjoyed carrying him nonetheless. In any case, although Teddy could walk already, she couldn't bring herself up to shake him awake.

She let out a sigh of relief as she saw the red façade of the apartment building loom into sight. She couldn't wait to get out of the heat; it was killing her. In fact, she couldn't remember when last she'd experienced such a heat wave. She was normally either stuffed into her office cubicle at the Prophet, at St. Mungo's with Hermione or Ron or alone in her apartment. It had been so long since she'd actually been outdoors.

She gave a little sigh as she reached the double doors and pulled out her wand, waving it in a complex, routine pattern. Suddenly, the big, brass knocker that had been placed in the middle of one of the double doors transformed itself into a face.

"Name and purpose?" It asked in a monotonic voice.

"Ginny Weasley, wishing to see Harry Potter, Room 225, for personal reasons… family matters."

The knocker, slash face, nodded before changing into something immensely similar to a mirror, only there was no glass inside the dark, brass frame. Only a sheet of metal. "Ginny stared into it as Harry's face appeared. He looked nervous, as though he was about to say a prepared speech in front of the entire Wizengamot. "What was the first thing you said to me the day I came back from the dead?"

Ginny snorted. "I didn't say anything. I slapped you hard in the face before shutting you up with a kiss."

"Access granted."

She slipped in through the open double doors and onto the marbled foyer. After a two-second ride up the elevator to the tenth flour, she stumbled out onto the carpeted hallway, before shaking herself and making her way to Room 225.

She'd always had an extra key. Harry had given it to her the minute he'd gotten the place, in case there'd ever be an emergency, or she needed a place to bunk for the night. But not once during the two whole years that she'd had the key, had she ever used it. She'd never known what the inside of his home had looked like and up until then, she'd never found it bothersome or strange.

She took out the golden key from her coat pocket and placed it inside the lock. It was a perfect fit. Twisting the handle, she opened it, curious as to what she'd find behind it.

"Hey, Ginny!" Harry's voice rang through the apartment, making Ginny jump slightly and let out a stifled scream.

"Bleeding – … Merlin's beard… What the…?"

She stared at the pristine living room, not a single soul in sight. After making sure her jump hadn't disturbed Teddy, she decided to pry around the area she stood. After a few sweeping glances, she finally found the source of the voice – to her dismay, it was _not_ Harry.

It was a bullfrog that sat on a side table close by. She'd seen it in one of the shops in Diagon Alley. It was a greeter. You recorded your voice, made sure the little frog saw something that resembled the people who visited you, and it was the frog's voice that greeted the person if they'd ever come through the door. Quite useful when your hands, mind or mouth were full.

She suddenly looked away from the bullfrog as she heard the rushing, shuffling sound of feet against the carpeted floor. She quickly set her hair right, dusted her clothes and looked into a nearby mirror to see if anything had caught to her face. Great appearances were advantageous, especially when you were set on sorting out someone.

"Ginny, is that you?" She heard Harry's voice as she turned away from the mirror. She hardly recognised him – his eyes were tired, weighed down from plaguing troubles unbeknownst to her, his shoulders were slouched, almost as if in surrender, and his hair… well, that was just about the only attribute that stayed the same. Even his voice seemed different – broken, somehow.

She passed off his question as a rhetorical one and gave him a little smile instead. "Just thought I'd drop by. It's been a while since I've seen you around."

She saw him tense up, his eyes flicking about uncomfortably. She pretended not to notice and moved past him to observe the place. "Yeah," Harry said, "work's been a pain… Have a lot to catch up on, you know? Paperwork…"

She turned around suddenly to face him, eyes glazed over in fury. "_Paperwork?_" She could see Harry flinching back as the word, so conveniently glossed over in contempt and anger, lashed at him. "_Paperwork???"_ She said again, allowing the emphasis to drip on the word. "I've been going through_ Hell_, trying to convince myself that you've got a good excuse for not being there for your friends when they _need it the most_, and you're here doing _paperwork_?"

Harry recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing as the pain seared his chest. He turned his eyes away from her, unable to look at the disappointment and anger and pain that filled those beautiful, green eyes. He felt cowardly, dastardly incompetent, shameful and rather lacking for not being able to look into those fiery orbs and face his consequences… And then his eyes caught on something – a little, pink hand that held onto Ginny's jacket, so delicately and softly.

He hadn't even noticed the rather bulky and large child that was held so closely to Ginny's bosom; he'd been so filled with surprise, so shocked at seeing her, that he didn't even realise there was a third person in the room.

"_Teddy?_" He gasped, looking back into her eyes, all his shame, fear and pain dissipating at once. He saw her nod, the anger in her eyes notching down to an almost zero as she saw the wonder and love that frosted his eyes. She smiled, pulling back the shroud that had covered Teddy up. It wasn't such a surprise that Harry had not noticed the little boy. The shroud was just about the same colour as her clothes.

"Mum says he's learned to ride a broomstick, and he's not even three. Remind you of somebody?" Ginny said gently, pulling the little boy from her chest. "Oh! His hair and eye colour keeps changing too… Red, then purple, then blue, then black… And he's clever too! Probably the cleverest kid I've ever seen, excluding Hermione… He's growing more and more like Remus and Tonks every day, Harry, and even a lot like you."

She put Teddy in Harry's open arms and sighed as she saw the delight ripple through Harry's face. It must have been months since he'd seen Teddy; since Draco had… Harry dismissed the thought.

"He's grown so much…"

"It's surprising, you know, how much you can miss out on in life, how many things can just zoom right past you."

Harry looked up at her and, though the wonder did not leave his eyes, the realisation hit home. He knew that her words had a double meaning.

"Don't let it be too late, Harry. Don't realise that you're missing out when it's too late." Ginny said softly, gently touching his forearm. She saw him nod just one small nod, but it was enough. She could see the determination and the realisation burning in his eyes, stirring in with the blazing love for Teddy. He took one last glimpse at Teddy's sleeping face before looking back into Ginny's.

"Will you take Teddy now, Ginny?" He asked her, the courage building up in his voice. She looked at him confusedly, but took him from him nonetheless. "I'm going to grab my coat. I think it's time I face my troubles head-on. It's time I visit my friends."

She nodded, flashing him the widest smile she'd ever given; the joy sprouting in her heart, painfully bursting against her chest.

* * *

Ginny had never felt prouder in her life. Not a single second's hesitation crept into Harry's heart as he burst through the white double doors of the hospital, flashed the nearest nurse a big smile, before moving to Room 4536, Ron's room. He strolled into the room, giving Mrs Weasley a hearty hug and Mr Weasley a mighty handshake before settling down onto a wooden chair nearby, holding onto his unconscious best friend's hand.

They sat like that, all four of them, with the occasional nurse popping in to check up on her patient, Harry sometimes telling Ron a funny story or jokes he'd heard on the train riding home. She could see that not only had he given himself hope, but he'd filled her mum and her dad with hope they could never have mustered up on their own, and she'd be forever grateful for that.

After a few hours, it was time to visit Hermione. He was a little reluctant, but his hope was still intact and in good condition as he entered the room. He sat next to the sleeping figure, not cracking jokes like he'd done with Ron, but just talking softly to her, as though she was a stray cat that needed to be honeyed up before it could realise that he wasn't trying to hurt it. He carefully stroked her hand, laughing a little, smiling a little, talking to her in a careful, delicate manner…

Ginny smiled as she watched Harry. She could see something she hadn't seen in him since Draco had died – she could see the man she'd fallen in love with.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine – Banished**

"_There is no world without Verona walls, /But purgatory, torture, hell itself. /Hence banishment is banished from the world," _- Extract from Romeo & Juliet Act III.3 by William Shakespeare

"_For the Lord knows the way of the righteous,/ But the way of the ungodly shall perish." _Extract from Psalm 1:6

* * *

There are places where mansions are set in rock, and are destined to be found by the worthy; just as there are places in the weathered soil that crack up and prepare themselves, much like a trap, to gorge the others and confine them in a maddening, soul-stripping solitude.

I can't remember how I felt before; how I used to see the sunrise or the sunset. I can't remember why I was on that bank, what I was doing before whatever happened, happened. I can't remember my family or my friends, where I was born or where I was raised.

I can't remember _anything_ and I don't know whether that's God's blessing, or his way of punishing me.

I looked down at my hands, staring at the faint white scars covering my hands. I listened quietly as Jensen and Doctor Kinev explained to me the plan: how to get out of Wippleton's discreetly and quickly.

Two days had passed since the day I'd erupted into green light. Only two, short days stretched into painfully long hours of hiding from the village mob. Some had witnessed, some had just heard, some had not even a faint idea what was going one, but they all had one thing in common – the knew I wasn't normal. I was a freak. A can of toxic waste left in the sun, not knowing when I'd blow up and destroy everything that lay within five kilometres radius.

It took less than five minutes of a town meeting to confirm that I was a threat, and should be banished; if ever there should be a time when I'd be seen on Wippleton's lands, the witness had a right to stone me to death.

It seemed fair to me.

"I'm sorry, Nick."

I looked up into the eyes of the sorrowed boy, the one person who'd made my life in Wippleton's worth it. He looked so familiar… so close to me, like I'd known him all my life. I watched as the tears blurred my vision, causing dozens of kaleidoscopic circles of light to erupt.

I wanted to tell him I'd be back, that there'd be no way I'd leave him behind and forget about him. Ever. I wanted to tell him that he'd taught me to heal, to live, to be alright, because to wake up so broken, to be broken down further by memories and feelings of pain and pain alone… It never is worth it if there's nobody there.

"I'm sorry too." I replied. He smiled a small smile, almost as if in reassurance. I stood up as the minute hand struck twelve, completely concealing the smaller, stub-of-an-hour-hand.

"It's time." The doctor said nervously, casting me a meaningful look that I returned with a nod.

With that, I stepped into the dark tunnel and allowed the darkness to engulf me…


End file.
